


It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

by EventHorizon



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, Greg the Grinch, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 03:32:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5359523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EventHorizon/pseuds/EventHorizon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade is not a happy camper about the eruption of holiday festivities around him, but Mycroft Holmes is not exactly of the same mind...</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> Written based on a prompt by the wonderful [sirro134](http://sirro134.tumblr.com/), so they get full credit for the idea...

   “No! God no. Just… no.”

Mycroft looked up from his tea and observed his partner, who seemed to be beset by a legion of squirrels in his clothing, if the agitated gyrations and balling of his fists was to be believed.

   “Gregory, your medical file does not indicate a condition for which seizures are a symptom, but if this is a late-onset bedevilment, I will phone for my physician to provide the proper diagnosis and treatment.”

   “The music! It burns!”

   “Synesthesia is a recognized condition, I agree, however, I do not know of any cases where it manifests as an ill-tempered jig.”

Now, his lover was holding his hands over his ears and turning his anguished face heavenwards as if begging the grace of the angels. Between Sherlock and his dear Gregory, there were few moments in life that could be termed dull.

   “My dear, if you would provide clarity, I would be better equipped to both understand and rectify the situation that seems to have you suffering demonic possession.”

   “That! That’s my problem!”

Following the trajectory of the Detective Inspector’s finger, Mycroft found himself looking at the small, yet state-of-the-art media player nestled in a corner of the kitchen.

   “You do not find the color agreeable?”

   “Funny. Why, why in the name of all that is good and decent in this world are you playing Christmas music?”

   “For the reason that the Christmas season is upon us and this is the traditional soundtrack for the event.”

   “It’s scarcely December!”

   “Which is the month, I believe, most commonly associated with the holiday.”

   “ _Scarcely_ December! We’ve just dipped a toe in the month, for pity’s sake.”

His Gregory appeared to have some objection to Christmas. Or the month of December. It was difficult to tell, at this point.

   “If I inquire as to the source of your agitation, my dear, will I receive a coherent response or further of your spirited dancing?”

   “You can afford to be cheeky, Mr. British Government. You haven’t had to suffer Anderson pretending to conduct the Trans-Siberian Orchestra since fucking October!”

   “Oh. Is he not talented in that area?  Few are, so there is really no shame in the fact.”

   “October! And don’t get me started on Donovan and her jumpers. Why would you voluntarily wear hideous jumpers in November? Why? Tell me why with that big brain of yours. Just why. It’s evil.”

This new dance was more a bouncing up and down in place, much like a toddler when they hear the radio, though without the eager, few-toothed smile.

   “Gregory… are you, for some reason, averse to the idea of celebrating Christmas?”

   “That’s exactly my point! It’s NOT Christmas! Christmas is not in October. It’s not in November. It’s at the end, _the end_ , of December!”

   “And that offends you morally?”

   “It does! Not when Christmas falls, but… why we’re beset by music and decorations and jumpers and such when it’s not Christmas!”

   “I would posit it was to extend the enjoyment of the season.”

   “But you _don’t_. You dilute it. Water it down like a drink at one of those upscale pubs. It’s… it’s fucking Christmas Lite, is what it is, and Gregory Lestrade has no love for anything that carries ‘Lite’ on the fucking end.”

Apparently, his dearly beloved had given this issue a great deal of thought. Rather perplexing thought, but thought, nonetheless.

“If I may hazard a summary, you do not oppose the celebration of Christmas, per se, rather the time frame of the revelry.”

   “I… yes. That’s actually it. Well done.”

   “Thank you. I pride myself on succinctness. Now, shall we explore the root of your psychosis or shall it remain a blissful mystery.”

   “It’s not… I’m not a madman, Mycroft Holmes, you snooty bastard. It’s just… when I was a lad, Christmas was special! It was the most brilliant time of the year. Lights and the tree… decorations and carols… I loved it! I absolutely loved it. Now, they’ve stretched the bloody thing out to a quarter of the year! All the special things your mum would bake that you only enjoyed at Christmas, you can get at any bakery since Halloween, so what’s special about them anymore? Nothing. All the things on the telly that you saw only in those few weeks before Christmas… buy the fucking DVD and watch them all year round!”

The wet, rather obscene noise was not the sole cause of Mycroft’s rolled eyes, but it owned the lion’s share of the blame.

   “I would not have taken you for a staunch traditionalist, Gregory, but I see I am mistaken.”

   “For this, I am! What’s so wrong about wanting one thing in life, _one thing_ , to remain as wonderful now as it was when you were a child? Not to have everything be… common and ordinary. Everything in this world is common and ordinary and nothing inspires any wonder or joy anymore. Yes, I know that’s not actually true, but it feels like it at this time of year.”

Mycroft ignored the stealing of his last biscuit in the spirit of domestic harmony and considered the state of his poor partner. Gregory was an exemplar of a caring and life-loving man, but, apparently, he had his own areas of despair that haunted like Marley’s ghost, on occasion. And, truly, that was a terrible shame, especially at this rather jubilant time.

   “I suppose there is merit to your point of view, however, some might see it differently. Given the harsh world that surrounds us, which, as an adult, must be viewed without any blinders or kind lies to soften the blow, prolonging the wonder of the Christmas season could be seen as a blessing. A self-medicating gesture, perhaps. A measure of extra time where it is acceptable to demonstrate a touch of frivolity, to indulge in things for the sheer pleasure of it, to show a kinder side of themselves and receive such in return… surely that is not a bad thing.”

   “I don’t need your logic and reason pissing on my mood, Mycroft.”

   “I would agree that your mood is sufficiently urine-sodden that no further sullying is necessary, however, I was hoping to bolster your spirits before I left for the afternoon and you were left here alone with any number of contrivances for beginning a rampage that I would surely find reported to me only moments before it became featured as an emergency news bulletin.”

   “Oh ha ha. The only one who’s going to get rampaged is the next grinning git who wishes me Happy Holidays when I just want a cup of coffee. Coffee! Not a candy-cane-snowball-elf-hat fucking latte!”

Smiling at the rather endearing tantrum would certainly send it volcanic in proportion, so Mycroft wisely kept his grin to himself.

   “Perhaps I should have taken to bended knee and offered you my home, as well as my heart, in February, rather than July, so I had time to prepare myself for your seasonal churlishness.”

   “There was no knee! Don’t claim knee when there wasn’t one!”

   “I had no idea you felt such a substantial sting of neglect from my non-traditional proposal. However, given the subject of today’s sermon, I believe I understand it most clearly.”

This rude noise was as moist and discourteous as the last and his lover looked every bit as adorable. Childish Gregory was its own brand of joy.

   “You know I loved your proposal. How many blokes get kidnapped from work by silent, mysterious men in black for lunch and a proposal in a certain clock tower because you said you loved me more than the city below us and wanted to propose to me in a manner that symbolized I was the apex of your happiness.”

   “I was rather proud of that, myself.”

   “You should be. Of course, you won’t be so proud when you get to that meeting late and your PA is giving you the laser eyes that make your internals squirm.”

   “She has also been spotted wearing Christmas-themed attire. I shall pass along your manifesto for her edification.”

   “Pass her along to Donovan! They can shop together and buy all sorts of Christmas-light earrings and brain-melting reindeer jumper and skirt combinations.”

   “I shall extend her lunch hour a full fifteen minutes should that occur. Now, I do have to dash, but… will you be alright, Gregory?”

   “No. And yes. Just out of sorts, but it’ll pass. It does every year.”

Not quite the answer Mycroft wanted, but pressing at this stage would not bring anything but further irritation and his partner had more than enough of that at the moment.

   “Very well. I cannot guarantee the hour of my return, but perhaps a film this evening? I know there are several you have hoped to watch and the latest grocery delivery has us with a bountiful quantity of both popcorn and the beer you so greatly covet.”

   “Now, that would be fantastic. Good, normal film without Scrooge or that fat red bastard or talking snowmen or angels… perfect idea, love. I’m already looking forward to it.”

And, with that tiny victory in his pocket, Mycroft rose, put his teacup on the counter, kissed his distressed lover on the top of his head and beat a hasty retreat before he said something to shatter that victory into pieces. However, the hasty retreat was not lost on the man currently fuming in his chair, almost as much for being a petulant infant than the jingle bells that were still ringing in his ears.

It wasn’t Mycroft’s fault he was in a mood. And Mycroft surely wasn’t at fault for how Christmas had changed over the years, so dragging him through the muddy streets of his mind wasn’t called for. Actually, if he thought about it, his Mycroft actually seemed to appreciate this time of year more than one would expect for someone who traded heavily on his cold and distant demeanor. There had been the occasional lingering at a shop window to view the decorations and assortment of Christmas-themed items proudly displayed for shoppers to see. The stop to sniff a candle or clove-studded whatsit or bowl of Christmasy shavings that smelled like pine.

And then there was their own home. Sitting in wait were the small boxes of decorations that he’d made excuse after excuse not to put up, even though Mycroft’s idea of an evening with brandy, a fire and the decorating process seemed to put a smile on his lover’s face every time it was mentioned. They didn’t even have a tree yet. Not that they should, to his mind, but…

But. There was always a but, wasn’t there? Maybe, just maybe, there was something to what Mycroft said about wanting to snatch a little happiness in this ugly world. His team, their entire building!, almost seemed to be chomping at the bit to start putting Christmas rubbish on their desks… replace proper picture frames with ugly gingerbread-house models for their family’s faces to stare out of and set appalling LED trees on their desks to twinkle cheekily at him when he walked by. Even their tea mugs were degraded! Gone were the solid, no-nonsense ones and out came the reindeer heads. It was enough to give a man a headache and it did. It made his head pound, but…

But. They were _happy_ doing it. You could actually feel the mood of the NSY lifting a little, though the work they were doing hadn’t changed a bit. It seemed easier to deal with though, when you had a touch of color and light and cheer around you while you dug through stacks of horrifying photos and reports… and, on the streets, people were nicer. Quicker to smile, to forgive, to lend a helping hand or give to someone who had a real need. Maybe, just maybe, the more of that there was in the world, the better the world would be. No, no maybe about it. If there was one thing his job had taught him was that kindness was in very short supply and anything that could top up the tank was to be applauded. So why was he such a raincloud about the whole business?

Because he _loved_ Christmas, that’s why. It was the most wonderful time of the year when he was small. They’d not had much and it had been a real struggle sometimes, but Christmas made him forget all of that. Made _everyone_ they knew forget about it. It didn’t matter if your ornaments were handmade or bought at a shop. That your tree was a bit thin or the music came out of a second-hand stereo or radio that was as old as your Gran. What mattered was that you had it, you did it, you ate it, you sang it… it was a little bit of time when everything seemed magical and it was all the more magical because it was ephemeral. Only there for a brief time so it was… intense. An intense burst of joy that lit you up from inside and made you feel the world was yours. But…

But. Who was to say that a joy stretched was a joy lessened? Yes, there was too much nonsense about the season now, but there was a lot of the old still there if you looked for it. People sharing a night together they normally might not because Christmas was for friends and family. Time taken to reflect on what you had and enjoy making merry _with_ what you had, even if it was only a few candles and lights on the mantle. Yes, the music started in what seemed like September, but you still hummed along with it and enjoyed the memories it evoked, along with the new memories you made when people caught you humming and joined in. The god-awful coffee concoctions were still shite, but his mum had dropped a cinnamon stick in hers and that was a smell he still remembered to this very day.

Maybe this new Christmastime was such an irritation because he was trying to hold onto something that couldn’t be held. Everything changed, it was the only constant in the world and being an arse because the world didn’t change for _him_ wasn’t something that couldn’t easily be termed smart. Maybe the trick, as with all else was to find a way to adapt that still made you happy. He was good at adapting, too. You had to be adaptable in his line of work and with the person he’d chosen to spend his life with. And speaking of Mycroft… who was so polite and not laughing at him today, even though he obviously **wanted** to laugh at his rants… what a joy it _should_ be to spend every moment of Christmas with Mycroft. Make their own Christmas traditions, settle into their own comfortable and cherished patterns, craft a whole set of new memories to add onto year after year… 

Yeah, he was an idiot. A blind, foolish, stuck-in-the-tar idiot. Here was the time to bring Christmas into their home and make it the perfect experience for both of them, whatever form that would take, and he was being the old, grumpy uncle that nobody wanted at the family dinner. Well, Grumpy Greg needed to die. The death might be a little painful, at first, but nothing good came easy. And, there was no reason not to swing the axe right about now…

__________

Stepping carefully through the door, Mycroft looked around, inspecting the premises closely for any sign of fury-based damage, the body of a dead caroler or a reindeer roasting over an open fire. Seeing none of that, at least in the entranceway, he felt safe to take a few further steps inside then stopped short, hoping that olfactory hallucinations were not a sign of impending mental breakdown. There was… evergreen in the air. And, was that a touch of cinnamon lurking in the background?

Following his nose, Mycroft took a few tentative steps towards the sitting room, then stopped short again hearing… music. Christmas music! And was that humming? A rough, slightly off-key humming, interspersed with snippets of actual lyrics sung in the same enchanting tone. Had he entered the wrong house? That was his fine Georgian sconce on the wall, but there was nothing to say its twin did not live elsewhere in the world, or _some_ other world where his beloved Ebenezer was humming to Christmas carols…

This time, Mycroft made it all the way to the sitting room and peered inside, feeling his heart stop at the sight. In the corner, where they discussed, but never placed one, was a Christmas tree around which were the boxes of ornaments he had taken from storage only to have sit untouched since they emerged. And… oh dear heavens. His Gregory was not only humming, but dancing to the music, softly swaying and sashaying around the room as he carried a large wreath, apparently, to hang over the fire. What devilry was this!

   “Mycroft! You’re home! I was expecting you later, but this is better. I was getting anxious to decorate and I really wanted to wait for you, but… well, I couldn’t stop myself for a few things. Not the tree though. Still naked as the day it was born. Or chopped. That we definitely have to do together, but I thought I’d get a few lights around and put up some decorations to make a start. How do you like it!”

Taking a large sip of what Mycroft’s nose told him was cinnamon-laced coffee, Lestrade beamed at his lover and waited while Mycroft’s wide eyes took in the scene.

   “Who are you and what have you done with my Gregory?”

   “HA! Yeah, I know. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. But, I had a bit of a think while you were gone and decided I was being stupid. I’ve got the most glorious man in existence in my life and was losing out on the fun and wonder of Christmas with him just because I was being ridiculous and stuck in my head. Well, no more. I love you, Mycroft and I can’t imagine a more amazing experience than sharing Christmas with you, creating our own traditions and rituals, making our own memories. I’m sorry we got a late start, but better late than never right? Here, let me take your things and you can change into something more comfortable to help me with this.”

   “I… I would be honored.”

Mycroft’s genuinely pleased smile melted Lestrade’s heart and he happily took a Christmas kiss from the man he loved before giving Mycroft’s bum a swat to set him in motion.

   “Is that, also, part of the activities for which you require my assistance, Gregory?”

   “Randy bastard. And yes. Once the tree is lit and the lights are low, I’m going to make love to you right in this room so I can see what your skin looks like when it’s bathed in the glow of Christmas lights and candles.”

   “A new Christmas tradition, perhaps.”

   “Our very first! This really _is_ a special day!”

Taking another kiss, Lestrade grinned and pointed imperiously to the stairs and, this time, Mycroft obeyed because he had a very gladdening evening ahead of him and it would not be as comfortable in his lovely, yet cumbersome, suit. Now and again, he ruminated on the concept of Christmas miracles and, each time, filed the topic away with the other folklore that held sway in society. However, that might require a touch of rethinking. Nothing less than a miracle could have filled his beloved with the Christmas spirit. Or, it could be witchcraft. One could never discount the handiwork of paganism, even if it lacked a specific wiccan flavor.

Regardless, one, also, did not look a gift horse in the mouth and this gift was especially welcome. Christmas was, by far, his favorite time of year and, now, he could share it fully with the man who owned his heart. Gregory had yet to see his collection of holiday socks, for heaven’s sake, and that was truly a sight to behold! What should inaugurate the season… a jolly snowflake pair or would the sheep wearing Christmas jumpers be more appropriate. Oh, he would decide after his shower. There was still a single bar of ‘Have a Holly Jolly Christmas’ scented soap at the back of the bathroom cupboard and he had simply dying to use it…


End file.
